Maxine Janssen
by Muggle of Wilmington
Summary: What if Max hadn't been raised in the school? What if she and Angel had been brought up as the true daughters of Marian Janssen?


Hey everyone, this is my first shot at writing an actual full length story, so reviews and any criticism are welcome!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Maximum Ride_.

"Miss Janssen, it's time to wake up," my servant, Katya, whispers, gently nudging me awake.

I slowly peel my eyelids back, drag myself into a sitting position, and stretch. "Thank you, Katya," I say, groaning tiredly. She gives a small curtsey as she steps out the door. I pull back my silk blankets and head for the shower; using freezing water always wakes me up well.

As soon as I finish toweling off and dressing, I survey myself in my mirror with dismay. It's not that I believe I'm hideous; it's my uniform- the khaki pants _everyday_, along with a white button down shirt and navy blazer, are _very_ itchy and uncomfortable. At least I don't have to wear a skirt everyday like I've seen some girls' uniforms.

There is one benefit from waking up early, though. As I step out into the marble floored hallway, I stop to look out of our floor length windows; I love the view of the early morning sun glinting off of the glass dome of the Reichstag, the house of the Bundestag, which is the lower German Parliament, and of the Brandenburg Gate in the distance. As opposed as I was at first to moving to Germany, I've come to love Berlin, its timelessness and beautiful architecture. We live in a gorgeous townhome right in the center of the city.

I stop in my baby sister's room before heading to breakfast. There she is sitting on her Disney princess bed, trying to braid her hair. "Morning Max!" she says cheerfully.

"Let me help you, sweetie," I say, taking her comb and softly brushing her platinum blonde hair. Obviously, she's not really a baby. She's a kindergartener, but what with my mom's busy schedule and dad not being in the picture, I take care of her mostly. As soon as I'm done helping Angel get ready for the day, I take her hand, and we skip down the spiral staircase to breakfast. You see, since we live in the city's center, our home is narrow and tall but extremely expensive.

Once we arrive in the dining room, pull out the heavy wooden chairs and sit down, I damn near have a heart attack. Someone's snuck up behind me, wrapping their hands over my eyes, momentarily blinding me.

"Guess who," Dylan, whispers, making my fright vanish instantly. Thank you mom, for instilling such paranoia in me that I could mistake my sweet, gentle boyfriend for an attacker. On the bright side, though, how often do your boyfriends live with you? You'll find that my life is freakish in many ways- we kind of make the _Addams Family_ look like the _Brady Bunch._ As he sits down next to me, I growl playfully, reach for him and… am interrupted.

"Not at the table!" my blind adopted brother, Iggy exclaims, sitting and immediately shoving bacon into his mouth. Iggy's incredible in that he doesn't let his blindness hinder his independence and does many things an average person could do; this, unfortunately also includes sometimes being a pain in the ass. I do love him though. I throw my fork in his direction, but before it can hit him, a big, meaty hand shoots out and intercepts it. Leo.

"Miss Janssen, your mother would appreciate it if you didn't ruin her home," he growls, in his deep voice with the slight Russian accent. "As soon as you're through eating, I want you and Dylan in the gym," he says sternly before stepping out of the room.

He really is awesome, though. His huge stature, a beast at 6'8, and his amazing muscles make him look menacing, which is in complete opposition with his good nature; while this has earned him the nickname, "Leo the Lion", he's a teddy bear inside. I've even seen him comforting Angel or guiding Iggy to something so he doesn't have to ask for help. He's also been my trainer since I was eight, and as usual for our workers and servants, he hates my mother.

After eating, Dylan and I walk down to our cavernous basement, which is really just our gym and training area. I see all the others that don't live here have already arrived, so I quickly go to the changing rooms to put on gym clothes and combat training gear. Now, gym with Leo is not like normal P.E.; it's basically learning how to kick ass. This is even on normal days- today was the once-a-month event of a full-contact combat lesson (we can't have these daily because of frequent injuries.)

Once I've pulled my gear on, I step onto the padded area and look around to see who my partner will be; Leo never tells us ahead of time. I see Omega come onto our "arena", and a grin spreads across my face. It's _so much _easier to fight someone you hate, and I despise Omega. Stupid name (he's jealous of Albus Severus Potter), but he's also one hell of a fighter, therefore, a great opponent. I try to stretch really quickly; sadly, we get no warm-up time, because in real life situations there is no warning.

Leo blows his whistle, signaling for us to begin. I immediately thrust my right leg into Omega's face for a side snap kick. He may be stronger than me, but I'm faster; I caught him off guard.

_Yes! _ I think as I feel his nose break and his head snap backwards (this is why we can't do these lessons often.) He retaliates with a backhand to my jaw, but before the blow can land, I do an outside block, and when he's open, a spear-finger to his throat. While he's gagging, I sweep his legs out from under him so he's flat on his back; he manages to punch me in the gut, hard, knocking the wind out of me. I regain control though, flip him on his stomach, and twist his arm behind his head until he taps out.

Gosh I love Krav Maga. See, we don't do plain old Karate; while that looks nice, it's not too practical. Krav Maga is an Israeli art that their soldiers learn (FYI, the Israeli army is one of the world's most bad-ass.) Why do we learn combat training in school instead of, say, soccer? _We need to learn how to defend ourselves in any situation,_ my mom says. See what I mean about the paranoia?

After gym, though, I have to go to normal classes. Well, they're still not exactly normal; the only students are me, Iggy, Dylan, Omega, a gorgeous, but kind of mean, African girl named Mara, and Lissa, my best girlfriend. Her mom is one of my mom's closest business partners. While we're opposites, we balance each other out nicely. Where I'm loud and opinionated, she's sweet and gentle; we strengthen one another, too. Honestly, though, the tiny class sizes aren't the strangest thing about my school. The students admitted for example: all of them have relatives that work for mom. The actual lessons themselves are bizarre, as well.

Take how science and math are _way_ advanced. I'm only sixteen, but I'm taking college level calculus, chemistry, and physics. Literature creeps me out; it's not just because our instructor, Mr. Herzog, is reminiscent of Hitler. It's just kind of disturbing. When we read anything about World War I or II, Herzog damn near defends the Nazis; he is practically ancient, and we are Germans, but he mustn't have any morals whatsoever if he defends that. He's also an elitist. While reading _Pride& Prejudice_, he made many comments about how "better" people shouldn't mix with "trash." Same with any history or government lessons- Ms. Wirth tends to have a somewhat skewed version of certain events.

Foreign languages are what I really love, though. We all learn some of many languages, but choose one to specialize in. Mine is Russian; mom is also having me take Korean and Chinese. Though I complain some to her about the extra work, I honestly find it enjoyable. The greatest part is all of the field trips. We don't just go to nearby attractions; nah, we think big, and go places like Rome. The greatest ones have been to Hong Kong, Seoul, and Marrakesh. Sure, our trips are educational, and the whole point is to learn how different societies operate, but they sure are fun, especially with friends like Iggy, Lissa, and Dylan; Angel usually never gets to go since she's so much younger than us.

Since it was a Friday night, Angel and I had to go eat dinner after classes with mom. She's so busy, we see her little to none Monday through Thursday, and then again on Sundays. She just stays home Friday night to pretend to be a good mother and Saturdays to… well, I don't really know exactly where she goes. You'd think this would be troubling, but I've gotten used to all of the secrecy about her life.

I can't stand being with her, and neither can Angel. Iggy is spared these torture sessions since she only wants to be with her "true daughters." If I don't live up to her idea of perfect, she becomes disgusted with me. I really wish I had a loving, supportive mom, but I know that won't happen. Thank God I've got such amazing friends.

Another thing I hate about these ordeals is how opulent they are; sure I love the delicious food, but hate the formalities. I also hate the servants; not them as people, but the whole idea of servants. This is the biggest freak thing about my family. They are supposedly mom's employees, but they're treated more like slaves, and they're actually called servants. Many times it seems like they were forced into service; they are almost always from certain groups of people or families mom dislikes.

There is one bright side about these meals, especially for Angel- they're great opportunities to see our favorite servant, the Gasman. He's an eight year old boy with the sweetest disposition; he's also _extremely_ smart. That's why he's called the Gasman. After he became friends with Angel and me, we introduced him to Iggy. They instantly bonded over a shared love chemistry and weaponry. He and Angel love each other simply because they are nearly the only young kids around here.

"Hey guys!" he said happily, grinning at Angel and me as he poured water into our wineglasses. He's on the kitchen crew since he's way too small and un-athletic for hard physical labor.

"Go fetch me a pinot noir," mother said imperiously. She's always hated our friendship with Gazzy- she believes he's beneath us. I know, she's such a Nazi and full of B.S.

What can I say, though? My life is a weird one, but I have great friends and we have fun. Sure, mom's freakish, but who doesn't think their mom's weird? She could be worse- right?

**I know this might not make much sense and be confusing right now, but I promise it will be cleared up within the next couple chapters. Any feedback is wonderful!**


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